The Artic pass turned out to be a decrepit one-lane, floating metal bridge that stretched across the North Pole. It rose one hundred feet above the blood-red water and the thousands of brown and orange junks that covered the ocean like water birds. The bridge had no walls, no guardrails, and swayed back and forth in the currents. Gripping the upholstery of my seat, as if to hang on and help steer, it was like riding a wild bull, especially since the road wasn't surfaced, and it felt like we were thumping over railroad ties.
Walter threw up into his handkerchief half a dozen times. Several of the windows cracked, but held together. The main screen snapped and showered the floor with bits of glass and glowing goo. The overhead light blinked out and when the auxiliaries came on, two of them flicked off as well.
When we were finally off the bridge and back on real roads in Asia-12, I felt grateful, but wasn't sure if my bones were in the same order.
Meanwhile, night had descended and everything had gone black. Outside, I saw not a single spot of light, and except for the road ahead in the beams, we could have been in outer space.
Walter stood and freshened up in the bathroom. When he sat, I could see that he was at least his normal pale.
I wasn't attacking him, or accusing, but I just wanted to confirm what I suspected. "There is no Ribo-Kool, is there?"
Although he didn't look up, his fingers began worrying an errant thread on his jacket. "Sorry."
"What is there?"
"Nothing," he said, with a sob. "Don't turn me in, please! It wasn't my idea! I didn't want to change my name."
"Your name?" I asked surprised. "Who are you?"
"Noole. My grandfather made bricks in that building where I live."
Changing identity was not just illegal but impossible, especially from slubber to family member. RiverGroup, or one of the other security companies, protected all names and numbers. "How did your uncle do that?
Shaking his head, he said, "Xavid Xarry did."
"My father's hairdresser?" I asked, as if he were crazy.
Walter peered at me. "He's cfo and coo of RiverGroup."
I had forgotten about his titles. Maybe because when Father announced it, it seemed like a joke. "How do you know Xavid?" I asked. "Or how does he know you?"
"He's Chesterfield's brother." He smiled hopefully, but his grin was short lived. "Xavid is very smart?" he said, the questioning intonation returning to his speech. "I guess he just wants to become part of the families?"
I didn't care that they were slubbers, but I knew Father had no idea. I knew he hadn't even gone to their house to take a look. And I knew that once it was discovered, the other families would cry foul that RiverGroup was merging with the enemy. Grabbing the control, I tried to turn on the cracked screen to call Father and tell him what an idiot he was, but of course, it didn't work. I longed to see his face turn red as he learned that yet another of his magnificent plans had died an ugly death.
"Look it!" said Walter, pointing.
Outside, lights had appeared on the horizon. I thought of the
Pure H
copy,
Miniature city flickers
, and that was exactly what it looked like—a tiny metropolis gleaming white, blue, and orange.
I asked, "That the place?"
"No. I think it's Moscostan. I go there to see creepy things." Frowning, he added, "I have bad nightmares about it sometimes."
"Where do we get the aru?"
"A little farther." Pointing to something approaching on the left, he asked, "What is that?"
Leaning over to get a better view from the windows, we were quickly approaching a tall, lit yellow and red sign. As we neared, I could read the ornate, script letters. It read,
Tanoshi No Wah
. Behind the sign was a large red-and-yellow-striped tent.On each of the six peaks, a red flag flapped in the breeze. Around the central tent were a dozen smaller ones and what looked like parked trucks and several lit rides with mechanical women, giant ducks, and golden blimps. To one side was a makeshift parking lot with a few rusted but garishly decorated four-wheeled trucks.
I said, "It's my mother!"
Walter laughed as if I were insane. "Your mother?"
"I mean it's her carnival . . . the one she travels with."
He looked horrified. "Way out here?"
"She left Father years ago. She joined this carnival. I don't know. It's like she does it to embarrass me."
"Why would she leave your dad?" he asked. "He's so nice!"
I was about to explain, but it did not seem worth it, or maybe it only confirmed his dreadfulness that he had charmed one odd and insignificant boy. Instead, I said, "We're stopping."
"Oh no!" he said. "It's too dangerous around here! Moscostan is not good."
"Driver," I said into the intercom. "Stop at this carnival." As I spoke, we zipped past it, but she began to slow immediately.
"You didn't tell me about this!" said Walter, panicked. "The places you go aren't good!"
"You don't have to get out. I'll go alone."
Frowning, he said, "No, I'll go with you." Then he sat pouting, as if he regretted our friendship.
Soon Walter's driver had turned the car around and parked it in the muddy lot.
"Look how big they are," he said, pointing to a group of slubbers in the same silver and white jackets and loose pants I had seen when I fell off the Loop. As the door slid open and the car was filled with hot smoky air, voices, I began to have second thoughts. I had just been so surprised to see the sign for Tanoshi No Wah, that I felt I had to stop, but really it made no sense. Worse, Mother would probably cry and plead with me to stay and when I refused, she would begin ranting and screaming.
Before I changed my mind, I grasped the side of the door and swung myself down. The ground squished underfoot.
From somewhere—maybe from the big tent—I heard an odd singing. The voice was at once lyrical and beautiful, but also oddly stinging, as though it was the combination of an accomplished opera soprano and a giant mosquito.
"I need a step." Walter still stood in the car, his toes over the edge, looking down the three-foot drop.
"Come on," I said, holding up my arms, "I'll help you." He jumped right into me and almost knocked me backward. I grasped the shoulders of his jacket, though, held him and kept myself up, too.
Straightening his jacket and hat, he frowned and said, "I don't want to die."
"We'll be fine," I said, hoping that was true. From here, I could see that the smoke was coming from one of the smaller tents where a vendor was roasting meats.
As Walter and I walked across the muddy field, slubbers who had been milling about stopped to watch. A few pointed at us, some gestured at my Loop car. Most looked unhappy that we were there. Several children laughed at us. They pulled their loose, nonwoven shirts taut as if to mock our tailored jackets. A tall, heavy man in a silver jacket had purple blotches all over his face. From his left nostril a clear viscous drip began to lower itself. I thought of the goo at the MonoBeat Tower, but tried not to show my disgust. Sniffing violently, he sucked the mucus back into his nose, and then turned away.
Walter tugged on my sleeve as if he wanted to run back to the car.
"He was just trying to frighten us," I said, not sure that's what he'd really meant.
As we continued, I saw a makeshift fence surrounding the tents, and next to the opening stood a small red booth. On top of the booth was a sign that read tickets. Inside was a man in a shiny gold shirt. He had a small face, a heavy brow, and what seemed like a permanent scowl.
"Good evening handsome and distinguished guests," he said, louder that I expected. "It seems you have come from afar in a very fancy car! I am so very sorry to say that the Tanoshi No Wah has already performed tonight." His glowering expression was gone. Now he beamed at me with a manic look. "I can offer you both the very best seats for tomorrow's performance," he said. "Only one hundred thousand apiece, gentlemen."
Exiting slubbers slowed to gawk at us. Two women in white plastic pointed at us. A man in silver and the same bunny shirt as I had seen before, scowled.
"Thank you," I said, leaning in so the others might not hear. "Actually, I'm Michael Rivers. I believe my mother works here." I wasn't sure if
work
was the right word. "I'd like to see her if I could."
He leaned slowly back as his eyes circled my face. For an instant, I thought he was going to tell me to go away. "Forgive me! I should have recognized you! Please, forgive me." He then fumbled with the things on the little desktop—a roll of tickets, pieces of blue and green paper, a grey metal box. After he had jammed everything in the container, he jumped down from his chair and disappeared. A second later, he emerged from a small door on the right side of the booth. He was just three feet tall.
"I'll tell her! I should have recognized you. I'll go tell her right now! Forgive me, please." In his right hand, he held the metal box. "I'll run and tell her right now!" He hadn't yet moved.
"Yes," I said. "Thank you."
"No,
thank you!"
He laughed. "Thank you, Mr. Rivers!" Next, he threw his arms around my right leg, as if hugging me. Walter must have thought I was being attacked. He yelped, stumbled backward, and fell to the ground with a splat.
The golden man let go. "Forgive me! Is this . . . another of our brothers?"
"No, he's a friend," I said, as I stepped to Walter's side to help him up. The golden man got on the other side and together we righted Walter. Several of the circled slubbers laughed. Walter frowned at them. His back was covered with mud and bits of trampled grass.
"I'll go tell her now!" said the golden man. He ran ten feet away, then stopped, and came back. "Forgive me," he said. "Please come in! You and your friend. Please, come with me! Come inside! I don't know what's the matter with me!"
At the entrance stood a woman in a frilly, dusty mauve dress, wearing a matching cone-shaped hat with a green feathery puffball at the top. Her exposed shoulders were bony and sad. The way she moved, she didn't appear able to turn her neck, head, or eyes. She strained to smile, and said, "Welcome to Tanoshi No Wah," in such a hush of a voice I barely heard.
Meanwhile, the golden man was running around shouting. "Michael Rivers is here! Everyone, he's really here!"
From the open door in the tent and from the trucks and smaller tents strange creatures began toward us. I felt Walter's hand on my sleeve again. "Freaks," he said with what sounded like both curiosity and dread.
A man, who looked my age, had no arms but fingers like plumes of feathers on his shoulders, stepped forward and stared at me intently as if he wanted something. A young woman, dressed in a tight silver bodysuit, had a tongue so long it hung to her knees. A clear, steady stream of saliva dripped from it. A boy had huge eyeballs that bulged from his head like a koi. A shorter, stout young man had another smaller head growing upside down from the top of his. Two men were dressed in red costumes with pointed yellow hats. One was holding what looked to be the enormous, gold spandex-covered genitals of the other. A bare-chested boy of maybe sixteen had a metal and glass contraption attached to his chest. Inside were tubes filled with blood, a spinning motor, and odd, glowing blue lights.
They stood and stared. The man with the genitals reached out a hand, but I retreated a half step.
"Don't hurt us!" whimpered Walter.
From the tent came a young woman in a flowing black skirt and a black bra with three cups. She had sharp green eyes, long flowing brown hair, but no mouth. Instead her face ended an inch below her nose. As she came closer, I could see that the black thing in the center of her chest was not another bra cup, but a speaker cone affixed to her flesh.
"You've come," she said. I recognized her voice. She had been the one singing before. Her speaking voice was like a cross between a castrato and an electric shaver. "I hoped you would!"
I knew what was going on! Mother hadn't just hoped I would come to live with her, she'd told all of her strange friends. "Where's my mother?" I asked, wishing I hadn't stopped after all.
"I'll get her," said the speaker-girl.
"I will!" said the man in red, who set down the genitals of the other. "I'll get her." He turned and dashed off. "Judy! Come quick! Judy, your son's here!"
"Welcome!" said a man dressed in the same kind of ratskins that my mother had worn when I saw her last. "Welcome to our simple and true way of life!" He had long, greasy black hair, a gaunt face, but fierce, supernova eyes. "Welcome to the Tanoshi No Wah!" He spread his arms and his cane as if he were introducing a show.
"They're all so very peculiar," I heard Walter say.
"Michael! My darling!" It was my mother. Her hair was slicked back with what looked like mud. Her eyes were puffy and the ratskin robe she wore was open. On her belly was either a tattoo or paint. Below the word
Wah
was an arrow that pointed to her crotch. She closed her robe and put her arms around me and squeezed. I felt the cold mud on my face. "I knew it," she said, sobbing gently. "I knew you'd save us!"
The others, who seemed to have been waiting for her to say just that, started to cheer.
"We just happened by," I began. "We came to the slubs looking for aru." I was going to continue, but she touched my face with her cold hands.
"Michael! I'm so sorry, but we weren't meant to live like this, with this guilt and remorse. I've got a few pills in my purse. Do you need one now?" She glanced toward the man in the skins and whispered, "Just don't tell Mason!"
I guessed Mason was the master of ceremonies, and the way Mother spoke I figured he didn't approve of her drugs. I also got the distinct and uncomfortable feeling they were having an affair.
"Not for me," I said, "I need it for Joelene. And I want to explain something."
"Maricell, sweetie," said Mother, addressing the speaker-girl, "this is Michael," she said, introducing us. "Michael . . . Maricell."
She reached her right hand toward me slowly, as if afraid. I did the same and just as our palms touched, a titter of sound came from her and she jumped back.